


Ubi Nihil Vales, Ibi Nihil Velis

by D20Owlbear, itwasadarkandstormynight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Human, Ancient Rome, I am a sucker for historical accuracy so I did a lot of research, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwasadarkandstormynight/pseuds/itwasadarkandstormynight
Summary: Aziraphale was a soldier, until he was tried for treason, was found guilty, and became a gladiator. Now he lives out his days fighting in the arena of theAmphitheatrum Flavium.Crowley is a masseuse in the gladiator schools. She hadn’t always been one, but as a slave, it wasn’t like she could choose how she spent her days. As far as work goes, it’s not bad.When they met, they became instant friends, however unlikely it may have seemed. But when Aziraphale is offered a chance of freedom, he doesn’t want to leave Crowley. Crowley, however, sees a chance to escape—a chance for both of them to be free.Will Aziraphale be able to overcome his self-doubt and accept his freedom? And will Crowley be able to go with him?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Ubi Nihil Vales, Ibi Nihil Velis

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic comes from the writings of the Flemish philosopher Arnold Geulincx. Translated, it means “where you are worth nothing, there you will wish for nothing”.
> 
> The chapter title comes from a letter by Seneca criticising gladiatorial games. Translated, it means “all these are delays of death”.
> 
> Thanks to [Dashicra1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashicra1) for the beta read! This chapter includes amazing art by the wonderful [D20Owlbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear) (who, incidentally, also helped me with the fic itself—an amazing person all around!), so look out for that too!
> 
> Enjoy!

_Clang._

Their swords clashed loudly for the umpteenth time that day. Rufus swung his sica[1] again. Aziraphale blocked it with his hoplon[2]. He returned the attack with his gladius[3] and struck at Rufus’ shield.

This wasn’t going to be very entertaining if all they were doing is hitting each other’s shields, Aziraphale thought to himself. He struck again, a little higher this time, and he heard the distinct ring of his gladius glancing off of Rufus’ helmet.

Rufus swung his sica and Aziraphale blocked it again, only to lash out once more with his gladius, hitting Rufus’ shield square in the center. A poorly timed strike. Aziraphale really needed to get his head in the game, just because it wasn’t a particularly interesting fight didn't mean he wouldn't mess up if his mind wandered. 

Strike, shield. Strike, shield. This was never going to be interesting to look at.

Aziraphale and Rufus circled each other, neither of them having even broken a sweat, except from the natural heat of the sun overhead. Aziraphale lunged and struck, and Rufus parried expertly; Rufus certainly was a formidable opponent, but it would seem neither of them were really putting their hearts into this fight. Aziraphale stepped back, and they returned to circling.

Rufus took a step forward and struck again, less tentatively this time. Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure what had changed, what with how Rufus' helmet masked his face and eyes, but adrenaline finally surged through him and his blood sang. Aziraphale parried and bashed Rufus with his shield. Then he punched forward again, pushing Rufus backwards with the force of his arm.

They traded blows, each more fierce than the last. Rufus swung his sica, and Aziraphale was barely able to block the strike with his shield and shuffled backwards for better balance on the amphitheatre sands. Then he struck out with his gladius and hit back, Rufus parried again, and his sword made purchase in Aziraphale's shoulder just at the gap in his manica.

Blood spilled on the sand, though certainly not for the last time that day. The crowd cheered, and Aziraphale's shield arm felt weaker by the second with how the muscle frayed with every tensing of it. It certainly wasn't the worst wound he'd fought through—the way it felt, it certainly could have been a lot worse if he hadn't instinctively jerked away—but it was still going to be a major liability through the rest of the fight.

They pushed their shields against each other, locked in a combat that quickly favoured Rufus, and the fire in Aziraphale's blood stoked higher and higher with battle-lust, especially now that he was truly in danger and the thrill of the fight filled him. Both attempted to strike while trying to overpower the other with their shields, but neither hit anything but air, their footwork drilled into them endlessly, and finally, Aziraphale thought, they were a spectacle to behold of might and power and prowess. Aziraphale pushed harder with his shield, swinging out with his arm as best he could with what power remained in his shoulder, and the resulting force pushed both him and Rufus backwards.

Aziraphale lunged and managed to hit Rufus’ shoulder. More blood muddied the sand. The crowd roared for more and cheered their elation at the crimson staining the arena.

Rufus collected himself, then swung, sword glancing off the side of Aziraphale’s helmet. Aziraphale struck back and hit Rufus’ shield. Rufus retaliated, Aziraphale parried, and they circled each other again for a few moments. Aziraphale swung his gladius as Rufus swung his sica, and with a loud, echoing sound they hit each other’s faces, saved only by the facemasks on their helmets. 

Rufus geared up again to swing his sica and hooked around the lip of Aziraphale’s shield, attempting to grab it, but ultimately failing to do so.[4] Aziraphale desperately pushed Rufus back with his shield. In retaliation, Rufus swung his sica, but Aziraphale managed to parry and stumbled backwards a few steps.

Rufus lunged, and struck Aziraphale’s shield once more. The power behind the blow was jarring, and Aziraphale wished he'd thought to lash the shield to his hand, but Instead he only tightened his grip with a grimace. Aziraphale promptly swung again at Rufus with his shield, but after a second of dodgy footwork trying to dance out of the way of the shield, Rufus pressed back in. He then swung his sica from on high for a diagonal blow and Aziraphale groaned to himself, forcing his arm to lift his shield to block it. He stumbled backwards and Rufus took the opportunity to lunge and strike again, but Aziraphale managed to block it, only barely, and he wondered when this fight had gotten so out of hand for him. Probably, he thought wryly, when he assumed it'd be run of the mill training. Flavian amphitheatre fights never ended up run of the mill. 

Aziraphale lunged and struck, doing his best to make up for his steadily declining arm-strength with his footwork, and Rufus parried, standing like an immovable object. Normally, this would make Aziraphale scoff, but it was taking all the excess energy he didn't have to spare to get inside Rufus' guard at all, let alone land a blow. Aziraphale moved forwards and attempted another shield bash, but Rufus caught it with his own shield and they were locked against each other for a moment. As they tested their strengths against each other, Aziraphale swung his gladius and struck Rufus’ helmet, nearly losing his balance in the process.

Rufus followed after him, but Aziraphale flung out his shield before he could be descended upon. Rufus swung his hook of a blade once more, hitting the top of Aziraphale’s shield, causing it to bob in place as Aziraphale did his best to force his arm into staying stalwart alongside him.. With a grunt of force, Aziraphale swung his gladius and with a loud ringing of metal scraped over metal that echoed around the arena, he scored a solid hit on Rufus’ helmet forcing the man back and buying himself some time to breathe and think again.

Gathering his bearings, Aziraphale lunged and struck again, determined to stay on the offense this time. He couldn’t afford to let Rufus regain his ground, and Rufus was too skilled a fighter to allow him a moment to think. Rufus struck out at the same time, catching Aziraphale’s sword arm at the outside of his bicep. Blood spilled on the sand, and once again, the crowd went wild.

With gritted teeth and furious eyes Aziraphale recoiled back due to the new wound. Rufus lunged again to press his advantage and punched Aziraphale with his shield. He swung his sica up high again and struck Aziraphale in the neck, overpowering Aziraphale's shield arm and blowing through to land his hit.

The crowd grew wilder, cheering and jostling each other and jeering their hearts out as more blood was spilled and Aziraphale fell down to his knee, his shield up as best he could keep it even though his grip grew slick with his own blood running down his arm and he could feel his life drip out from the crook of his shoulder.

It rankled at him, but Aziraphale knew the fight had gone on long enough, and he also knew if he managed to get up he wouldn’t last long either way, so he raised his finger. _Ad digitum_. He waited with bated breath to see what the editor[5] would decide. 

The crowd began chanting, but he couldn’t make out the words at first. Then the words they were saying grew sharper and could be understood—they wanted him to _live_. An editor ultimately had to bow to an audience’s wishes if he himself wished to remain in power over the games, so he knew what was about to happen. A thumbs down[6]. He heaved a sigh of relief.

Rufus held out his hand and Aziraphale gripped his arm gratefully. "Thank you," Aziraphale said as he was pulled up, "You fought well."

“As did you,” he replied, and together they walked out of the arena.

* * *

“Ow!” Aziraphale hissed as the physician applied a salve to his neck wound. He was lucky to be alive, he knew that, but it still hurt. 

“Don’t move, please,” he said. 

Aziraphale resisted grumbling in response. He was _trying_ , dammit, it’s just that when you’re hit in the neck by a sharp object it tends to hurt. A lot. Rufus had known where to hit to make it the least debilitating overall, as they all did, but though it had happened before, it wasn’t exactly something you got used to.

The bandages weren’t enjoyable either, as they were incredibly uncomfortable and always seemed to get in the way. As the physician dressed his wounds, Aziraphale silently wondered how long it would take before they could be removed. Hopefully he would be able to fight again before too long. 

It felt like he’d been in there for hours. The physician would occasionally pause to either fetch some salve or more bandages, and each time he did Aziraphale thought it was over. It never was. 

When the physician finally started cleaning up, Aziraphale couldn't contain himself any longer. “May I leave now?”

The physician chuckled. “Always so impatient, you gladiators. Yes, you’re free to go. Move along, now, I have other patients to attend to.”

Aziraphale quickly thanked him and then left as fast as he could. As he turned a corner he immediately bumped into a servant of his gladiator school he knew very well in the hallway.

“Oh hello!” she said, her voice chipper and just a little smug on the side. “Good fight, I see?”

Aziraphale smiled wryly, then winced in pain as it pulled a little at the tendon in his neck. “Hello, Crowley… A good fight? Well, if you call getting hit in the neck good, then yes. It was a _very_ good fight.”

“Hey, at least you’re alive! If you’d still been in the army and someone would have sliced your neck open _then_ , you wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale!” 

Aziraphale refrained from rolling his eyes. It would only hurt more. “We didn’t fight armies up north, we were building a wall. There was very little fighting involved, and I certainly didn’t fight _soldiers_ , as I know you are well aware.”

“Well,” Crowley said smugly, raising an eyebrow. “You fought that boar, didn’t you?” 

“What does that have to do with–a boar is not a soldier, Crowley, and that was a profound circumstance anyways. Look, it just came out of the woods suddenly, and no one else was around, I had to do _something_ –”

Crowley laughed. “Relax, Aziraphale, I know the story, I get why you did it, and I don't think it's a bad thing. My point was, you did fight, even if it was a wild beast. Probably good preparation for that lion here.”

Aziraphale shuddered, and winced again. “Don’t remind me. Going through that once was bad enough. I don’t need you to recount the experience for me.”

Crowley nodded seriously, her eyes hidden behind smokey black lenses, but Aziraphale liked to think her gaze was as bright and intelligent as the rest of her countenance. "I won't. Here, let me help you get back to your quarters. We've been standing here long enough and, honestly, you look like you could use some rest.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Aziraphale replied, but leaned onto Crowley’s proffered arm anyways. 

Their walk back to the barracks was a slow one, but with the company they had, neither of them really minded.

When they got to Aziraphale's bed, Crowley hesitated. “D’you think you’re going to be able to get in bed yourself, or do I need to help?”

Aziraphale looked at his bed thoughtfully. "I think I can manage, thank you." He carefully seated himself on the hay-stuffed mattress and, as unsteady as he was, he managed to stay upright.

Crowley turned to leave.

"Wait!” Aziraphale said. “Are you leaving so soon? I haven’t talked to you in a while, and, well—truth be told—I’ve missed our conversations.” He looked a bit like a lost puppy, like a pile of sadness which didn’t quite understand why it was so alone.

“Oh, I didn’t think–well, if you really want me–I suppose I won’t be missed, so I might as well.” Crowley fell over her words like a lazy stream suddenly encountering an unexpected waterfall. 

Aziraphale huffed slightly. “If you don’t want to, you can leave. I’m not going to order you around."

Crowley blinked. "Why would I not want to stay with you?"

Aziraphale sighed. "You didn't exactly seem eager, Crowley. I was just giving you an out."

"You didn't have to," Crowley responded. "I really do want to stay. But I have to be careful about where I'm seen. I don't... there's rumours, Aziraphale. I don't want to encourage them."

"I see." Aziraphale's voice was barely a whisper. An awkward silence stretched between them.

Crowley shuffled her feet and leaned against a wall. "Anyway. Aziraphale, I saw a bit of your fight. You weren't your usual self out there. Did you lose on purpose? Are you _trying_ to get hurt?"

"What? No! Why are you even saying that?" Aziraphale protested, but it sounded weak even to himself. He could only imagine how Crowley would interpret his reaction...

"I'm just saying, it didn't seem like you were giving it your all. Are you afraid they'll give you the rudis again, or what?"

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Why would I be afraid of that?”

Crowley shrugged. “You refused it before, and no one knows why. You don’t have to tell me, it’s your decision to make, but it means you don’t want it, and the thought of getting it scares you.” She paused, considering her words. “Not that that’s necessarily the case, but you asked why you would be afraid, and, well, this is one explanation for it.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply. Crowley looked at him and suddenly realised he looked very tired, and maybe he hadn’t even heard a word of what she’d just said. No matter. He should sleep first, they could always talk again later.

“Hey,” she said softly, “Are you still awake, Aziraphale?”

“Wuzzat?” Aziraphale mumbled in response. He shook his head as if that would wake him up. “Oh good, I’m exhausted from the fight.” He squinted. “I... I should sleep.”

Crowley chuckled. “Go sleep, Aziraphale. I’ll see you when you’re awake again.”

When he didn’t respond, she could hear soft snoring coming from his bed and she grinned. ‘Tired’ had been an understatement. Hopefully he’d wake up well-rested.

She paused in the hallway, looking back at Aziraphale’s face one more time, before making her way back to the massage room. Aziraphale’s day may be finished, but hers had barely begun. It was time for her to put on her face, pretend at being a man, and do the work she was supposed to be doing.

It was for the better, she told herself. Romans didn’t look too kindly on her ‘sort’, whatever that meant, and the wistful desire for the lands and people of her birth welled up inside her again. Not to mention they would likely kill her should they ever find out she wasn’t actually a man. At least she had Aziraphale.

(She hadn’t meant to tell him, then. He’d asked about her clothes, and she just blurted it out. She had been _extremely_ lucky he just accepted it.)

Before entering the massage room, she stopped. The threshold between her and her work seemed more insurmountable than usual. She wasn’t sure what had changed to make her feel like this, but it was a difficulty she could not afford. She took a deep breath. Then another. She could do this.

(She had to.)

Crowley opened the door and stepped through. No one seemed to notice—one advantage of being a slave. She moved towards the back of the room, to gather the oils she would need.

(Did it take longer than usual? Perhaps. No one noticed, of course. At least this time it worked in her favour.)

Time to start working.

###### Footnotes

1. A _sica_ is a sword used by thraeces. It is distinct from other Roman swords due to its slight bend.^

2. A hoplon is a small round shield.^

3. A gladius is a short sword with two sharp cutting edges and a tapered point for stabbing. It also had a hilt with indentations or knobs that made it easier to grip. Incidentally, it is also where the word gladiator comes from, due to the common use of gladii.^

4. This was a real strategy thraeces used, but it only worked on rectangular shields (which the murmillones had, and thraeces fought murmillones often), and Aziraphale has a round one, as he is a hoplomachus.^

5. An editor was a sponsor who financed gladiatorial games, and would often decide whether a gladiator who had lost a fight would be allowed to live or die.^

6. The idea that a thumbs up means life, and a thumbs down means death, is a point of contention among historians, and there is no conclusive answer either way. A thumbs down meaning the gladiator was allowed to live seems to be the prevailing theory, so that’s why this is the meaning the thumbs down carries here.^

**Author's Note:**

> I did a lot of research for this—as I said in the tags, I am a sucker for historical accuracy, and I do love doing research.
> 
> I used [this article](https://historycollection.com/life-like-gladiator-ancient-rome/) for general information about gladiators. I used [this list](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Roman_gladiator_types) for a list of the types of gladiators that existed in ancient Rome, and [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddxGS378Yds) for a more in-depth explanation of all the types. I also used [this re-enactment of a gladiator fight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bITesnDyvlE) as inspiration for the fight scene here. 
> 
> I used an article called "Avoiding Death Like the Plague: Wound Care in the Roman Army," by Gwendolyn E. Dougherty (published in #History: A Journal of Student Research: Vol. 2 , Article 2 in 2018) and [this translation of a Roman text about medicine](https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Celsus/5*.html) as a source for the physician who treats Aziraphale after he got wounded.
> 
> I also used ‘Healing bodies: the ancient origins of massages and Roman practices’, Medicana Historica, Vol.2, 58-62 by S. Iorio, S. Marinozzi, V. Gazzaniga, published in 2018 for information about massages in ancient Rome.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted soon-ish, by which I mean definitely this year, but I know myself, so I'm not making any promises. Probably somewhere next month.


End file.
